


And On Into Tomorrow

by ShepardCommander



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-08-10 10:22:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7841089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShepardCommander/pseuds/ShepardCommander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yhwach has been defeated, the Soul Society, World of the Living, and Hueco Mundo saved. Ichigo has beaten the odds time and time again with Rukia at his side, and now that the future is wide open, who knows where it will take them...Alternate ending to Bleach. Canon up until chapter 685 and 686.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning of the Rest of Their Lives

**Author's Note:**

> My AU ending to Bleach! Almost everything up until chapter 685 is still canon; there might be a few changes here and there, but this is an AU. Updates will hopefully be semi-regular on a weekly basis, but it largely depends on when the mood strikes me and how my own projects and work are going. Your thoughts are always appreciated, though if you are just here to hate on IchiRuki or any of the other pairings mentioned therein, I suggest you take your hate elsewhere. This work of fiction is not hurting you or the canon ending.
> 
> Edited on 05/18/17.

Yhwach came apart.

It wasn't a surprise to Ichigo that Yhwach could be killed but rather that he  _had been killed_. No, that he _was being killed_ , for the battle had not been won yet.

Holding Zangetsu firm, knowing that if he faltered or lost faith for just a second Yhwach would reform, Ichigo cleaved through the Father of the Quincy with all his might. The muscles in his arms burned and his eyes stung as sweat and grime dripped into them, but he did not stop, did not waver, and with a sickening  _snkt_  and a bubbling gulp Yhwach was in two places at once, in a way that no man should ever be. Yet Ichigo's blade kept singing, cutting through the air as he completed the arcing blow that had cut Yhwach's life into literal halves, making sure that there was no strand still connected, that all threads had been severed.

The inky darkness that the Quincy God was swathed in, the moonless night that cloaked his deathly pale flesh, was flung out, burst apart and spread like droplets of water across the bright blue sky. Yhwach was stretched thin, as if some invisible force was pulling at the pieces of him from every direction, and his head jerked up, eyes rolling back to expose the milky whites, mouth opening and closing but no words coming out, just the rasping burbling of a dying man. Yet Ichigo did not tear his gaze away, even as his opponent was rent asunder, as any semblance of what he was and used to be was scattered on the wind and the suffocating pressure bearing down on the young half-shinigami's chest finally,  _finally_  relented, and took a step back and sucked in a deep breath for it was—

_Over._

It was...over.

Yhwach…Yhwach….was...Yhwach…

Ichigo's feet moved of their own accord, his vision blurring, cool eyelids sliding into place over burning eyes.

Tired.

He was so, so tired.

But he had won.

He had—

"Ichigo!"

And just like that, with one word, his name, his brown eyes snapped open and focused, his spirit stirred and strength returned to spent limbs.

_Rukia._

She was getting closer by the second, speeding to meet him as he—

 _Shit_.

He quickly righted himself, stopping his plummet to the unforgiving ground below. A light blush—at least he hoped it was light, but given with the way his face was burning—dusted his cheeks and he let out a cough, raising his left hand as he swung Zangetsu over his back with his right. "Yo."

"You fool!" Rukia hollered up at him, eyebrows bunched together angrily. "To fall like that—! What if I hadn't been here?"

"Then I guess I would've fallen," Ichigo shrugged dismissively, his voice cracking as it left his dry throat.

"Then you guess you would've...!" Rukia stamped a foot and huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Idiot!"

"Yeah, well, you were here, so I didn't fall."

"That's not the point!"

Ichigo raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Not the point? What do you mean, 'that's not the point'? You just said—"

"I know! I know what I said!"

"—that I would've fallen if you weren't here and—wait. You know what you said? Then why are you yelling at me? What the hell are you—"

"You could've died, Ichigo!"

Ichigo paused, any argumentative feelings he had dying with the words on his lips.

"Yhwach…he could have killed you, and I…"

Silence stretched out between the two as they locked gazes, Ichigo instantly finding himself lost—drowning—in her violet-flecked onyx eyes.

Unlike Yhwach, whose darkness had been devoid of warmth and comfort, there was a softness in Rukia's, a depthlessness to them that wasn't frightening or harrowing but one that he could happily drown himself in for the rest of his days, because Rukia was—

 _—beautiful_.

The thought spat itself out before he could think to swallow it.

Rukia was…beautiful.

She always had been. He'd always noticed, always seen her, but now—

Maybe it was the leftover adrenaline muddling his thoughts and clouding his judgment, or maybe it was because they had been to actual hell together and back, or maybe it was any other number of countless things, but in that moment…he didn't care.

She  _was_  beautiful.

She was the light of his life.

Without her he'd have perished long ago, never knowing of what he could be, what he was, would have lived a meaningless, powerless normal life.

Because of her, her selflessness, the Worlds would continue to exist, his friends continue to breathe, his family continue to be.

He owed everything to her, really, even though she'd doubtless scoff and say she owed him just as much. Neither one of them was really keeping tally, of course, and they didn't do things for one another because of some perceived list of paybacks. They did things for each other because they were Ichigo and Rukia, because their destines had been linked together long ago by some red thread of fate, because they  _wanted_  to, because they were—

 _"Did you really think that was the end, my son born in the darkness?"_  a hot breath hissed along the half-Quincy's neck.

Ice replaced the blood in Ichigo's veins and he froze despite the heat that had tickled down his spine in a breathy whisper, for that voice—

_No._

Ichigo spun, Zangetsu swinging once more, Rukia shouting as—

The breath in his lungs exited in a rush as something collided with his stomach and he struggled to breathe as phantom hands closed around his throat. His head was thrust brutally upwards with a snap, spit and blood flying from his open mouth.

_"I will take away everything that you hold dear, Ichigo. If I am to go, then so be it! But I will not go into the nothingness alone."_

And then the hands were gone and he was falling to his knees, gasping for breath, eyes watering. But instead of allowing himself of moment of respite, he was pushing himself downwards towards the ground, using the momentum from the invisible menace that had held him mercilessly in its throes to propel himself towards—

_Rukia._

Yhwach materialized behind the small shinigami that was his light, his breath, his life. He watched as her eyes widened, the venomous spiritual pressure crashing into her like a raging wave that threatened to drag her under.

A warrior to the end, Rukia went for her sword where it was sheathed at her hip, left thumb pushing up against the cross-guard as the right hand closed around the grip.

But she wasn't fast enough.

And neither was Ichigo.

The substitute shinigami could do naught but watch as Yhwach ran Rukia through, as his dark blade pierced the center of her being, as her eyes bulged in shock and lips stretched wide in a silent, agonized scream. Her limbs went slack, black veins erupting from where her chest had been punctured, blobs of eyes bubbling across her skin as her flesh lost its lively hue and grayed.

_"RUKIA!"_

Time seemed to slow as the black mass that was Yhwach consumed her, as Ichigo reached for her and she for him. Their fingertips brushed, just brushed, and then the darkness was pulling her back, back, back, devouring, drowning, bleeding—

_"Ichigo!"_

_"RUKIA!"_

_"Ichi—!"_

oOo

"RUKIA!"

"Ichi—!"

Pain blossomed across Rukia's face as Ichigo's head collided with her nose. She jumped back, a crimson geyser erupting from her nostrils, her hands clamping down in an effort to stem the flow. Red gushed onto her gloves, and though they were no longer the pure white they had been when Byakuya had presented her with them nearly a year ago, she couldn't help but mentally cringe at the stain the blood would leave.

"Ibiot!" she gasped, voice distorted as she held down on her nose firmly. "Datch where you pub your 'ad!"

"Wha—Rukia?"

She blinked back salty tears, watching as Ichigo, too, blinked, confusion creasing his forehead. It took him a few blinks to realize where he was—second company's barracks, or rather, what was left of them, wooden beams and bedsheets serving as a hastily constructed roof and door—another few for him to survey the state he was in—wrapped in bandages from head to toe—and a couple more for his attention to finally settle on her and recognize whose nose it was he had smashed.

Rukia readied herself, fully expecting some smart retort to slip from his parched and cracked lips, but instead of getting into his usual grumpy state, instead of his eyebrows furrowing and mouth souring into a frown, his brow lifted and his jaw went slack.

The blood slowed to a trickle and Rukia lowered her hand, biting her lip as concern tied her gut into knots. She reached towards him hesitantly. "Ichigo…?"

" _Rukia._ "

Rukia jumped, startled, as Ichigo flung himself forward, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. Red dusted her cheeks as she felt him bury his face between her breasts, his lips continuing to move even as he pressed her closer to him, and she could feel her name falling from him like a prayer over and over— _Rukia, Rukia, Rukia._

Huffing, not quite sure what had gotten into the fool, Rukia glanced up at the thin white sheet that served as the only barrier between them and the rest of the patients crowded into the wrecked halls. But instead of chiding him like she told herself she should have, she found herself winding her arms around his strong back, pulling him closer, eliminating what little gap there had been between them.

The tears she'd held at bay finally broke free—tears that she told herself were coming from the smashed nose and not because she was holding Ichigo, because Ichigo was  _alive_ and  _in her arms_ —and she felt a heavy weight lift from her shoulders.

They'd made it.

Her eyes screwed shut and she leaned into Ichigo's embrace, into him, and just  _breathed_.

She remembered the relief she'd felt upon arriving at the battle with Yhwach. Having done her best to ease Inoue's pain with a quick healing spell, she'd dashed after Renji and Ichigo, only to find that she was too late, that the battle was over, that Yhwach was finally,  _finally_  dead and this feud of hate settled at long last.

Ichigo had been standing tall in the sky with his blade out, his back to her as Yhwach had spoken his last. He had been tired, they all had been, yet his stance had been one of pride, of victory, as what was left of Yhwach had dispersed. And she had—

"Ichigo!" Her voice had rung out loud and clear, despite the exhaustion gnawing at her bones.

His head had lifted at his name and he had turned around, the word, "Yo", forming on his lips before his eyelids had fluttered shut and he had swayed forward, oblivious to the world around him, ignorant of the very important fact that he was standing on nothing and that the ground was a long, long way down and that's when she'd known she loved him.

" _Ichigo!_ "

It had occurred to her what an inopportune time it was—him unconscious and falling, her flash stepping as fast as her aching body would allow—but occurred to her it had, her already pounding heart pounding harder. So hard, in fact, that she had been afraid it would burst from her chest.

His unconscious body had crashed into her and her arms and back had strained under his full weight as they both had plummeted towards the unforgiving ground below.

All she had been able to think about was cushioning Ichigo's fall, of saving him even if it meant getting hurt herself, and then Renji's tattooed and calloused hand had closed over hers where it had gripped the back of Ichigo's tattered robes, and then Uryu had been there too, his cold, pale hand touching hers, and then Chad with his kind and gentle sort of strength, the ground rushing up, up, up…

Rukia's head had jostled between Ichigo's forehead and Renji's sweaty chest as something had caught them, mercifully stopped their deathly plummet. When her brain had stopped rattling around inside her skull and her vision had righted, Orihime's weary smile had greeted her from down below, gratitude and something else that Rukia hadn't been able to identify flashing across her battered face.

"I thought I'd lost you..." Ichigo choked out, the words muffled and quiet.

"Fool," she said _._ " _Fool._ "

How long they remained like that, Rukia didn't know. She held him until his breathing had evened out, the air around them dropping in temperature. With some reluctance they broke apart, Rukia untangling her hands that at some point had wound themselves in his spiky hair. Ghosting a slender finger along his cheek, his large hand caught her small one, their eyes meeting and holding each others gaze.

Something had changed between them. A line had been crossed when he had reached for her and she for him and nothing was ever going to be the same ever again. She knew it. He knew it.

"Rukia—" he started haltingly. "I—"

"Oh! There you are!"

Ichigo's hands left Rukia's, her arms snapping to her sides as Renji brushed the cloth hanging from the broken wooden frame aside. The tattooed shinigami blinked in confusion, Rukia's face no doubt as red as his hair as she felt her cheeks burn. What was on Ichigo's face she could only guess as she refused to look at him lest their secret, whatever it was that had transpired between them a moment ago and was continuing to worm its away around inside her, was made known before either one of them could pinpoint what it was.

"Ooook..." her old friend shrugged. "What's going on with you two?"

"N-nothing!" Rukia squeaked, despite her attempts at angry bravado. "What do you want, Renji?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah. Kyoraku is looking for you. Something about Captain Ukitake—"

_Ukitake._

"I understand," she cut him off, hands balling into nervous fists. "Thank you, Renji."

"Rukia..." Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Ichigo started towards her, attempting to swing his legs over the lip of the bed, groaning. "Wait..."

"I'll be back soon, Ichigo," she promised him, forcing herself to stay focused on what was in front of her, even when every fiber of her being was crying for him, begging her to stay. Approaching Renji, she put a hand on his arm and squeezed gently, avoiding his questioning gaze. "Renji, take care of him for me." And with that, she was gone, flash stepping away before either man could object.

If she had stayed, she would have seen Renji standing there, scratching his head, left eyebrow raised as a red-faced Ichigo had turned around on his cot and pulled the blanket over his head.

"Was that... _blood_...in your hair?"


	2. Where We Go from Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for this long-awaited update! I finally have a new job that affords me more free time and I plan on playing catchup to my ongoing fics. Thank you for your patience!
> 
> I've also made some updates to the first chapter, correcting some dialogue and making it more in-character. Feel free to take another look!

"—and then there is the matter of the Arrancars' request—"

"—I do believe it is more prudent that we worry about the stability of the Soul Society before worrying about that  _waste—_ "

"—we've been granted a once in a lifetime opportunity to make peace and you would throw it away—"

"—cannot believe you would even be suggesting a serious consideration of their offer, Lieutenant Ise—"

"—well I  _am_ , Lieutenant Okikiba—"

Shunsui Kyoraku slowly sipped his sake, an amused smile creeping across his face as his co-lieutenants argued. Genshiro Okikiba, as always, was steadfast and stone cold in his logic, ever the dutiful soldier devoted wholly and completely to the Court Guards—there was a reason he had been Old Man Yama's Third. Nanao Ise, however, was not one to be deterred by the likes of someone such as Okikiba, his seniority over her be damned, and she stubbornly held her ground, eyes blazing with a fierce fire fanned by her newfound strength and the sword—Shinken Hakkyoken—strapped to her waist.

Leaning back on his free arm, long brown hair slipping over his shoulder, Kyoraku let out a long sigh as their voices rose in volume, each one fighting to be heard over the other. His good eye bounced between the two as they conversed, all three of them seated on the floor of First Company's Assembly Hall, his head moving slightly until even that act became too much for his growing headache, made worse by the dull ache of phantom pain that resided in the hole where his right eye used to be. It was fortunate, he supposed, that the Assembly Hall had had its roof ripped off in the chaos following the Quincy invasion; he couldn't imagine what it would be like to suffer through their shouts rebounding off of the walls, trapped inside the large, mostly empty building as ghostly echoes.

His attention finally came to rest on the Head of the Ise Clan, his remaining grey iris softening as it alit upon the matriarch. For once, Nanao did not notice, so caught up in her heated argument with her fellow lieutenant as she was, and Shunsui took advantage of her distraction to admire her fully.

He wished her mother could see her now, could bear witness to the strong woman her beloved daughter had become. He wished his brother had lived, gotten to spend time with the child he had fathered yet never known. He wished he had been stronger, that he had never taken the Ise's holy weapon, that he had stood by as his sister-in-law had stood trial, had been  _executed_  for an act he had helped her commit.

He wished Old Man Yama was still alive, even if he cursed the very rules and laws the late man had been so determined to uphold. He wished that Jushiro had never fallen ill as a baby, even if it meant that he had not received the strength that came with being part-God and never joined the Court Guards, never become a captain, never met Kyoraku.

He wished a great many things—and he was glad none of the things he wished would ever come to pass, for if they had...

"—Lieutenant Okikiba, if you would just  _listen_  to what I am saying—"

The carefree smile playing with his lips twisted, becoming something else, something not entirely pure and goodhearted.

…he would have never gotten to be here, with  _her_.

"—Lieutenant Ise, if you would see  _reason_ —"

A small asp of jealousy nipped at the curly-haired man as the squabbling took another level in heat—he was going to have to share Nanao with Okikiba, though she was more likely to bark at the older man for his rigid and old-fashioned thinking than she was about lecherous ways, like she did with Kyoraku himself.

Kyoraku hummed thoughtfully to himself and swished the strong-smelling liquid in his cup, his hand drawing lazy circles in the air.

It wouldn't do, having Nanao keep track of  _two_  people. Kyoraku was many things, and one of those things happened to be a very selfish man.

He exhaled deeply through his nose, the loud rush of oxygen leaving his lungs and out his nostrils going unnoticed by his bickering lieutenants, even Nanao.

Kyoraku frowned, his hand stilling mid-swish.

No, this simply would not do. But what options did he have? As the Head Captain, anything was within his power to decree, but etiquette demanded that he not demote Okikiba—not that he would ever do something so humiliating to the man after his tenure of service, etiquette or not—and the very thought of sending Nanao off to another company was one he could not bear.

He didn't really need two lieutenants, not when there was such a power vacuum in the lower companies, positions abandoned or left unfulfilled due to unfortunate circumstance. Chaos was a single collapsed-house away, sheer pandemonium a single sigh from escaping. And that was precisely  _why_  he  _did_  need them—Nanao and Okikiba both.

"—what do you think, Head Captain?" Genshiro said, forcing Kyoraku to leave his thoughts and enter the conversation. Kyoraku blinked lazily, the older man looking at him solemnly, as if he expected Kyoraku to bring Nanao to heel and point out the foolishness of her request.

"Yes, what  _do_  you think,  _Head_  Captain?" Nanao prompted saucily, clearly perturbed her captain hadn't been his usual obnoxious self and butted his way in yet to take what she thought was the right side— _her_ side. "You've been uncharacteristically quiet."

"Have I?" Kyoraku blinked again and opened his good eye wide, voice pitched an octave higher than normal with mock surprise, earning himself an eye-roll from Nanao. Whether or not Okikiba caught on, Kyoraku didn't know, as the man continued to sit still as a statue, gaze unwavering. "Goodness, it seems I have. What were we talking about again?"

Nanao let out an exasperated groan, touching a slender hand to her forehead.

"The Arrancars' request," Okikiba informed him without hesitation. "To venture forth into the wastes—"

" _Hueco Mundo_ ," Nanao corrected, adjusting her glasses in a motion too sharp to be taken as casual.

"—to rescue Tier Harribel."

"You don't think we should?" Kyoraku ventured carelessly, deviously stroking the dying embers of their near-shouting match.

Okikiba shook his head. "No, I do not think we should. Not when Soul Society is defenseless as it is.  _Vulnerable_."

" _That_  is precisely  _why_  we  _should_ ," Nanao cut in hotly, flashing Okikiba a simmering glare. "To prevent something from invading our borders—strike an armistice, if you will. Besides…having the Arrancar— _Harribel_  herself—in our debt—"

Okikiba snorted. "You assume much, Lieutenant Ise. That such creatures would uphold any promises made—"

"I  _do_  believe they would," Nanao retorted. "Harribel, at least. And I trust her to take action should those under her rule violate the—"

"Trust? How can one trust a Hollow? They are creatures of darkness, Lieutenant Ise. Even the freshest recruit understands that. Unless you have forgotten their tortured origins, the souls that they are born from—"

"Souls that  _we_  failed to begin with!" Nanao countered. "Unless  _you_  forget their tortured origins! Hollows are born from Pluses bound to the World of the Living—"

"—through their own regrets and despairs—"

"—that  _we_  could have prevented from becoming—"

"It is our duty to the souls under our care—"

"It is our duty to  _all_  souls—"

"I think..." Kyoraku started.

Both of his lieutenants closed their mouths and craned their heads to look at him. Kyoraku had to bite back a laugh; he had spoken so softly, he had been betting they'd overlook him again. It seemed that they had been paying more attention to him than he had originally thought…

"Yes?" Nanao snapped when he remained silent. "Out with it, already!"

"Lieutenant Ise!" Okikiba chastised.

"Now, now," Kyoraku set down his sake carefully, raising both hands in a placating gesture as Nanao glared at her co-lieutenant, ready to throw back a sharp word or two. Or dozen, if Kyoraku knew her—and he did. "There's no need to fight." His good eye drifted towards the window that opened up onto the ruined Seireitei below. The tension in the room drained instantly, both of the Shinigami under his command sobering as they followed his line of sight. It was a low blow, Kyoraku knew, but he was beginning to grow afraid he would be unable to get a word in with them at each other's throats. Just another reason for him to separate the two as quickly as possible. "I think we've all had enough of that. At least, for now."

The trio sat together in heavy silence for a minute, the battle with the Quincy—hopefully the last one—still fresh in their minds, still alive in the weeping wounds on their bodies, forever carved into their skins and souls. So many had died. So much had been lost.

_Old Man Yama…_

Nanao was the first to look away from the destruction, focusing on some spot on the floor she deemed fascinating. "What…what would you have us do, Captain Kyoraku?"

"Yes, Head Captain Kyoraku," Okikiba said, meeting Kyoraku's eye as they both looked away. "What  _would_  you have your lieutenants do?"

Kyoraku lifted his head, studying the man and woman under him—Nanao, whom he had known her entire life, his flesh and blood; Genshiro, a remnant of the past, tried and true. Both invaluable, kept close to his breast for a reason.

He was making the right decision, he knew, even if it was a selfish one…

"I think…" His lieutenants all but stopped breathing, becoming preternaturally still. Under normal circumstances, Kyoraku would have savored the moment. Just five minutes ago, he would have held back dramatically until a vein in Nanao's head had pulsed with frustration, until Genshiro's limitless patience reached its end, but the sight of Soul Society…the Seireitei…in the state it was in…the state they  _all_  were in… "…you are  _both_  right."

Nanao and Okikiba blinked twice in unison.

"Head Captain—"

"Captain Kyoraku—"

Kyoraku held up a hand, silencing them. "There are two of you, are there not? And there are two tasks at hand—securing Soul Society and cementing an alliance with Tier Harribel." He paused, letting his words sink in, letting them recognize the folly of their quarrelling. Sure enough, the two lieutenants looked at each other, mouths screwed to the side wryly as unspoken apologies slipped between them, albeit grudgingly.

"Just…what are you saying, Captain Kyoraku?" Nanao braved.

"What I'm saying…is that you're right, Nanao, it  _is_  time for a change. In how we deal with Hollows. Arrancar." Kyoraku folded his hands together beneath his chin, fingers interlocking, leaning forward. "They  _are_  our responsibility…the souls we have failed. However…" He nodded at Okikiba. "Genshiro is also correct—the Seireitei is in bad shape. Defenseless. There are more than just Hollows and Arrancar to worry about…"

"Thank you, Head Captain," Okikiba said.

" _Hmf_. Don't thank me yet."

"Head Captain?"

Kyoraku sucked in a deep breath, preparing himself for what came next. Neither one of them was going to like it. He didn't really care. "Genshiro…I am placing you in charge of our… _guests_ …and the rescue of Tier Harribel—"

Okikiba's face blanched. "Head Captain…!"

"—and Nanao,  _you_  are to oversee the restoration of the Court Guards."

Nanao's eyes widened. "Captain Kyoraku…!"

Kyoraku stood brusquely, sake cup rattling slightly at his feet as the sudden movement disturbed it, Nanao and Okikiba jumping to their feet and trailing after him as he stalked away, his long legs aching from having been folded beneath him for so long.

"It was  _my_  idea to assist the Arrancar!  _I_  should be the one to go!" Nanao protested crossly.

"On that, we agree," Genshiro said. " _You_  should go."

" _Thank you,_ Lieutenant Okikiba _._ "

"Lieutenant Ise, there is no need for such hostility; I was merely supporting your—"

"Enough." Kyoraku halted abruptly, having made it to the sliding doors that led into the spacious hall. He had kept his voice quiet yet firm, letting his subordinates—for that was what they were at the end of the day, at least in this setting, his relation to one of them notwithstanding—know that this was not up for debate. The Head Captain— _their_  Head Captain—had spoken.

"…Understood," Nanao groused a second later.

"My apologies, Head Captain. Your will shall be done," Genshiro amended swiftly.

Kyoraku let out a breath, relieved. "Good. Now…" He pushed the heavy sliding doors open, revealing a very bewildered-looking Lieutenant Rukia Kuchiki.

"Head Captain Kyoraku!" She snapped to attention. "I was told you wanted to see me."

"That I did, Lieutenant Kuchiki." Kyoraku smiled and moved aside, gesturing her inside. "If you'll excuse us, Lieutenant Ise…Lieutenant Okikiba…Lieutenant Kuchiki and I have… _much_ …to discuss."

Rukia's throat bobbed as she gulped nervously.

"Of course." Genshiro bowed slightly to the short Kuchiki as he passed her by. "Kuchiki-san."

Rukia returned the courtesy, bowing and greeting the older man with all the grace of a noble. "Lieutenant Okikiba."

Kyoraku raised his eyebrows as Nanao paused on her way out, shooting him a scowl as she spoke to her fellow lieutenant. "Feel free to punch him if he tries anything, Lieutenant Kuchiki. In fact, I  _insist_."

oOo

Rukia tried not to squirm as the Head Captain eyed her over the rim of his sake cup, her hands winding into the fabric of her Shihakusho. She was eager to hear news of her Captain's condition, and that anticipation coupled with what had just transpired between her Ichigo was making her uncharacteristically antsy.

Barred from staying at Ukitake's side due to the severity of his illness and the residual effects of having Mimihagi ripped from him, she had spent her waking moments—and almost all of her moments those days was waking—hovering over Ichigo and assisting the healers with simple tasks such as fetching fresh linens, delivering clean water, and casting minor healing spells on those with lesser injuries as the body count rose and the wounded continued to pour in, overwhelming the few that remained fit to serve. She wasn't even sure what day it was anymore, if the months had changed, if one season had passed into the next…it was all a blur, one bloody, dirty mismatch of colors, sights, and sounds flying by her as she moved, moved, moved.

"You look—pardon the expression—dead," the Head Captain said at last, lowering his drink.

Rukia considered her answer. The truth was, she  _felt_  dead. But it seemed ill for her to voice her complaints when she was still alive, still breathing, still in one piece. She was one of the lucky ones, despite having been in the heart of the long battle. After all, she was a trained Shinigami, a Lieutenant, and the Quincy had been terrible foes that did not differentiate between the innocent and the guilty, the weak and the strong, the citizens and the soldiers… "I…There is much to be done, Head Captain."

"That there is, Lieutenant Kuchiki," the Head Captain agreed, nodding gravely. "That there is…" He lapsed into silence once more as he lifted his cup to his lips, his good eye trained resolutely on her small form.

The petite Shinigami took her lower lip between her teeth and worried it, her strung-out nerves reaching their end as the Head Captain studied her silently, searchingly. There was no clock to keep track of time, no  _tic_  to drive her mad, yet Rukia bit down on her lip, hard, as anxiety coursed through her nonetheless.

What was the Head Captain looking for…?

"You could use a drink, Lieutenant Kuchiki," Kyoraku commented after what seemed like an eternity. He stretched his arm across the gap between them, offering her the rest of his sake, still in its jug. "So drink."

Rukia blinked, her cheeks warming with the onset of a blush. "H-Head Captain Kyoraku?"

"Drink." The Head Captain bobbed his head at the jug, straw hat tipping low. "I insist."

Rukia released her bloodied lower lip, the taste of cooper coating her tongue, fingers twining together in her lap.

After all that had happened…everything that was still left to do…she could use a drink, but…

_"Rukia!"_

_Amber eyes—orange hair—scarred flesh._

_Lips so close—fingers linked—legs intertwined—strawberry and sunshine—steel and ice—darkness and light._

Rukia's hand shot out before she could stop it, grabbing the sake jug from Kyoraku's hand roughly. She threw back her head, letting the alcohol burn her throat as she downed it in one gulp.

She heard the Head Captain let out an appreciate chuckle. "Easy there, Lieutenant Kuchiki."

Blinking back tears, Rukia sucked in a shaky breath, suddenly lightheaded as she lowered the empty jug from her mouth. "I-I'm sorry, Head Captain Kyoraku," she apologized, handing him back his jug sheepishly.

"No apologies necessary," the Head Captain responded in a singsong voice, bringing the jug up to his eye and looking inside. He let out a whistle. "Remind me never to challenge you to a drinking contest. That was mostly full."

"Head Captain…"

"That should help…at least I hope it does…with what we are about to discuss…" The brown-haired man set the jug aside, his expression morphing from one of amusement to something far darker. "On to business, then, if that is alright with you."

Rukia bobbed her head, short raven-colored locks sweeping across her cheeks at the movement, tickling her sensitive, still-healing skin. Fingers locked together, she took in a deep breath, held it, prepared for the worst.

"Jushiro…Captain Ukitake…" The Head Captain paused, as if at a loss for words. A shadow flickered over his face—or maybe that was the alcohol in Rukia's system playing tricks on her already—and he sighed heavily. "…is stabilized. For now."

Rukia's eyelids fluttered in surprise. The Head Captain's tone of voice…. she had thought…

Letting out the breath she'd been holding, she let a small smile touch the edges of her mouth. "Head Captain, that's wonde—" She broke off as her eyes met his good one, the darkness in it unmistakable, his jaw set, countenance cold, shoulders rigid.

"I said he's  _stabilized for now_. Not that he'll live. And even if he does…even if he pulls through…" The flowery kimono shook as his chest heaved. "…he will never be able to resume his duties as a captain of the Gotei Thirteen."

Rukia's world shattered, the air pulled from her lungs as if she had been sucker punched in the stomach. First Kaien…and now their captain…!

"No…" she whispered, stunned. "...no…not…not Captain Ukitake…not him…please…I…"

Something warm and solid gripped her left shoulder and she blinked, unaware that her eyes had unfocused. There was a brush of warm, weathered skin beneath her chin—when had she become so cold?—and her head was gently raised. "I know how difficult it is for you to hear this, Lieutenant Kuchiki," Kyoraku was saying as her vision cleared. "Believe me—I do. Jushiro was…Jushiro  _is_ …my  _friend_."

Rukia struggled to speak, her brain a jumped mess of thoughts and feelings, throat running raw as she fought down an anguished scream. "…Head Captain…"

"And that is why…why I know he would want us to prepare ourselves for the worst, that he wouldn't want us to dwell on the past…to move  _on_ …"

Rukia opened and closed her eyes rapidly several times, holding the tears at bay, and Kyoraku's face finally swam into focus.

"But…I think you already know that, don't you, Lieutenant Kuchiki?"

Rukia began to nod, stopped, spoke instead, forced her hands to stop their trembling. "Yes, Head Captain."

Kyoraku made a satisfied grunt. "I hate to be so…abrupt…callous…to burden you and not give you an opportunity to grieve, process what this means for your company, for  _you_ …but, unfortunately we do not have the luxury to mourn. To dwell. Not yet." He retracted his hand from where it had drifted down her ever-slimming upper arm, clearing his throat. "Kurosaki-san is awake, isn't he?"

Rukia's heart skipped a beat at the unexpected change in topic, mood flip-flopping from one extreme to the next, sending her head spinning. "Y-Yes."

"Good…good…" Kyoraku leaned back, thick eyebrow drawing low over his good eye. "Excellent, even."

"Head Captain?"

The grizzled man glanced up at Rukia, his gaze inscrutable, and she was reminded of how young she was when compared to men such as him, as her captain. "Effective immediately, you are acting captain of Thirteenth Company, to be made full captain when we have a more…formal…audience."

Rukia stared at Shunsui Kyoraku dumbly, not quite sure she had heard him right. "I…" she gabbled. "But Captain Ukitake—I'm not—just a lieutenant— _Captain_?"

"Acting Captain Rukia Kuchiki…Acting…Captain…Kuchiki…" Kyoraku rolled the words around on his tongue, testing them out, tasting, "…has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

Rukia shook her head in disbelief. "I don't…I'm not…Head Captain…!"

He held up a hand. "There's more,  _Captain_  Kuchiki," he smirked. "Hm. There's two of you now…We're all in trouble, that's for sure. But, because I'm a glutton for punishment…What say you we triple that?"

"I—I don't understand."

"Not yet you don't, but you will," Kyoraku assured her. "Would you say that Kurosaki-san has gotten…stronger?"

"Yes."

"That his spiritual pressure would be…detrimental? To those in the World of the Living?"

Rukia's heart sank to the pit of her stomach, realization dawning on her. She couldn't lie, and not because Kyoraku was her Head Captain, but because Ichigo really had become stronger, strong enough to the point that the pressure his spirit unconsciously emitted would damage the souls of the lesser and he would never, ever forgive himself if he caused harm to an innocent being. "Y-Yes."

"Good."

Rukia' s brow lifted. "Good?"

It was Kyoraku's turn to look sheepish. "I'm afraid I haven't been completely honest with you, Kuchiki-san."

"Honest…?"

"Yes, honest..." Kyoraku turned his upper body slightly, in the direction of Fourth Company's barracks, Ichigo's power thrumming from far away. "…about Kurosaki-san. I…wanted him to be the one to tell you…about who he is…who his father  _was_ ….assuming he  _knows_ , which I'm sure he does by now given all that has transpired…" He glanced back at Rukia.

"What? What is it? What about Ichigo?" Rukia demanded, the ferocity with which she spoke surprising both herself and Kyoraku. There was something… _commanding_  about the tone flavoring her voice.

Kyoraku smiled widely, as if pleased. "Ah. There it is. That spark." He chuckled softly. "Jushiro…you picked well…"

"Head Captain Kyoraku, please," Rukia prompted, shoving the implication of what he had just said—that Captain Ukitake had chosen  _her_ —to the back of her mind, focusing instead on Ichigo. "What about Ichigo?" With all the emotional ups and downs, the shocks she'd had in the past half an hour, she wasn't sure she could take anymore, but if Ichigo needed her…if he was in danger…if his father…his family…

"Ah, don't look so serious!" Kyoraku chided with a chortle. "I think you'll rather like what I have to say. You see, Captain Kuchiki, I have a proposition for Ichigo…for  _you_ …"


	3. The End of Something Old and the Start of Something New

Inoue visited him every day. Uryu didn't know what he'd done to deserve such a mercy, but he wasn't about to question it.

"—and then Sado-kun started chasing Yoruichi-san, who was so busy trying to claw out Urahara-san's eyes that she didn't notice Sado-kun until—"

The smile that bloomed across Uryu's face was genuine, his eyes slipping closed as he surrendered himself to the soothing stream that was Inoue's voice. She was warm whereas everything else trapped inside the sterile white-walled tower that was the Senzaikyu—namely, himself—was cold. No, not cold.  _Cold_  was putting it lightly. What he felt, what seeped into his bones, his very marrow, sapped him of strength…it went beyond just  _cold_.

The young Quincy now knew what Rukia had suffered through all those years ago, had seen that it still haunted her as she and Renji had led him inside, her posture rigid, shoulders tense. It hadn't been until Renji had uncuffed him and the two assistant captains had retreated outside the leeching grasp of the cell that Rukia had regained enough of her wits to address him one last time, her fair complexion draining of every last drop of color as the door had sealed shut, promising that she would secure his release as quickly as possible, that he would not fall prey to the fate that had once almost befallen her—execution.

Truthfully, Uryu couldn't begrudge the Head Captain for treating him as he had. It hadn't, after all, been the first time the young Ishida had raised his bow against the Shinigami. Ally of Kurosaki's or not, his respective roles in the downfalls of Aizen and Yhwach notwithstanding, he was still a Quincy…though no longer the  _last_ , as he had once proudly proclaimed.

Inoue had told him that at least three others had survived—Candice Catnipp, Shaz Domino, and Meninas McAllon—though she did not know where they were being held, other than that it wasn't with him. That he, the one that Yhwach had deemed his heir, should be locked up in a place that neutralized every lick of his power…it was to be expected. Whether or not the Shinigami knew that he had been named the sole inheritor of Yhwach's title didn't matter; he was the strongest of those that remained, and so here he was kept in loose white robes, robbed of the sun, chained to the fate of what he was and could not stop being.

Inoue's energetic rush of words abruptly subsided, prompting him to open his eyes once more, keenly missing the singsong way in which her stories danced into one another. She was still there—thank the spirits—but her bubbly mien was gone, replaced by something far darker, something Uryu didn't much care to have hold her in its throes. Something like—

_Sorrow._

No, it was more than that, something much more crushing than sorrow, he thought as he peered deep into the depths of gray flecked with blue, taking note of the way she saw without seeing, as if she were in a trance, her mind taken far, far away…

_Despair._

He mentally backtracked the sounds her tongue had carved—for even if he had been relaxed to the point of slumber, he committed to memory every utterance that fell from her lips—jumping from one story to the next, amazed at how much could happen in a single day and how well she could remember it.

She had been regaling him with the details of Urahara's surgery, his ruined eyes replaced with something…"better"…of his and Mayuri Kurotsuchi's design. The moment the bandages had been unwrapped from around his head, blonde hair fluffing at the release, eyelids opening and closing over golden mechanical orbs, Yoruichi had been upon him in cat form, claws out.

"But I thought we had agreed that if it was a necessity…!" Inoue had mimicked the shop owner before pitching her voice even lower in an attempt to portray the black cat's voice. "There was no agreement! Don't mistake the intimacy we shared while I was in 'that form' as forgiveness!"

Mid-chase Sado had ended up getting involved, though not because he held any sort of affection for the hatted man. He had simply seen a small black cat and been enthralled by its cuteness, practically flying across Fourth Company's barracks in pursuit of the duo, nearly crashing into Rukia, who had, unfortunately, been laden with a heavy bowl of fresh water and a towel, headed for—

Uryu fought back the frown that threatened to crease his brow and lost.

— _Kurosaki._

Of course, it was Kurosaki…It was  _always_ Kurosaki.

_Kurosaki._

His hands clenched into fists, the surprise he felt at being able to feel so strongly about anything after his draining stint trapped in the Senzaikyu's soul-eating walls almost overwhelming the anger that burned in his chest. Almost.

"…Kurosaki-kun…" Inoue said, as if she had read Uryu's thoughts—and honestly, he wouldn't have been surprised if she had—eyelashes fluttering, trying to blink away the gloom that had settled over her, hide its ugly head from sight. Uryu felt the breath leave him as his heart twisted painfully in his chest, as Inoue— _Orihime_ —tucked away the parts of herself she deemed unbecoming, stifling what she felt, hiding the pain deep, deep inside. "…Kurosaki-kun…his body is healed, but…I…" She trailed off, shaking her head before giving Uryu a small sad smile. "…I can't…wake him up…I can't… _heal_  him where…where he needs to be healed…I…I can't…I can't…" Her lower lip wobbled and she bit down, averting her gaze as something wet and shiny glazed over her eyes.

Uryu had never wanted to curse Kurosaki's soul to Hell more than in that moment. He supposed it wasn't entirely fair of him to blame the man completely; it wasn't like Kurosaki hurt Inoue on purpose, after all. Kurosaki was just…Kurosaki. And Kurosaki didn't notice the girl, no, the  _woman_  that chased after him, desperate for a soft glance, a kind word. He didn't realize how always telling her to  _stay back_  had demoralized her, how not trusting her abilities had led her to not trust in herself.

Kurosaki—the damned fool—was like that with everyone, if Uryu was being honest, and only a select few could or would ever put him in his place and remind him that his nakama were  _nakama_  for a reason...

…and Inoue wasn't one of them.

Yes, she was his nakama, but…

Uryu's gaze softened.

…she wasn't  _that_  nakama… _that_ person…for Kurosaki.

And she knew it.

And it killed her.

Just like this was killing Uryu.

"Inoue…"

Gently, softly, he took her hands in his, prying them away from where she was furiously rubbing at the tears dripping down her round cheeks. She blinked once, twice, snot bubbling in her left nostril, and Uryu found himself running a calloused thumb across her smooth skin, savoring the brush of her flesh against his, taken aback by his own boldness.

"I-Ishida-kun…" she hiccupped.

He smiled another genuine smile meant just for her.  _Only_ for her. Always for her. "Uryu."

Her eyebrows lifted, auburn bangs tickling the tips of his fingers.

"I…" Uryu hesitated, but only for a moment. "Uryu…call me…Uryu. I think…after all we've been through… _Uryu_."

Inoue's face flushed red, and Uryu, realizing what he had just asked of her, found the loose and airy robes he wore suddenly too tight and warm.

"I mean…! Only if you—if you're, um, comfortable! Yes! Comfortable! Saying my name. My given name, that is. But only if you want to!" he amended hurriedly, waving his hands. "I would never want to make you—would never want to do anything that would…!" He sucked in a deep breath and bowed forward, hiding his red-tinted cheeks. "If I've been too forward, I deeply apologize."

"Ah! Oh, um, yes!" Orihime chimed in, the volume with which she spoke pitched just a little too high. "I-I mean no. No! You're not making me—never think that you…!" Uryu heard her take a deep breath. She held it for almost a minute—one long, painful minute—before she released it and said, "I-I think…I think it would be…nice…to…to call you… _Uryu_."

His head shot up, eyes wide. "You would? You will?"

"I…I think that…" She nibbled on her lower lip, thinking, before nodding her head. "Yes. If you…if you still want me, t-to call you that…. _Uryu_."

"Yes!" he said, perhaps a bit too quickly. "I mean, ah, yes.  _Yes_."

"Yes?"

Uryu smiled, holding her gaze. "Yes."

"Ishi—I-I mean…Uryu…" She smiled now, too, and Uryu could have sworn that it was the single most beautiful thing he had ever seen and that he wouldn't quite care if his end came tomorrow. Just as long as he had this time here, now, with her… "Uryu…"

A heaviness settled over him, though not because of anything Inoue had done. As mad as he had been at Kurosaki, he was really no better. What he had done to them—to her—the lies he had told himself to justify his cause, righteous as it might have been…and if…if the Shinigami truly wished to see away with his kind…if tomorrow, for whatever reason, really was his last day…he needed her to  _know_.

"I…never apologized...did I?"

Inoue started, thrown off by the sudden change in topic, and tilted her head to the side, studying the raven-haired man in front of her. "Apologize?"

He nodded. "For...for what I did. For leaving. For...hurting everyone. Hurting... _you_." Uryu struggled to swallow, tipping his head back so it rested on the wall behind him, the lump in his throat refusing to move.

"You don't have to explain, Ishi—I mean, Uryu. I understand—"

"No, you don't," Uryu said thickly, hoping that Inoue wouldn't take his brusque treatment of her attempts at placation the wrong way. He closed his eyes, listening to her beating heart and soft puffs of breath. "And…I...do. Yhwach...he...Yhwach..." He opened his eyes, though it did him no good, vision blurry despite the glasses that rested on his nose. "...killed my mother."

Inoue didn't say a word, and despite his burning desire to see what was written across her face—disgust, anger, pity—he kept his chin up, refused to face her again until he had said his piece. Then and only then would he ask for her forgiveness.

"...I thought if I got close...if he accepted me into his inner circle...I could...I could avenge my mother. I thought…if I could earn his trust...I could...kill him. But...I... I couldn't. Not without...not without everyone else. Not without  _you_." It was getting harder for him to speak, but still he pressed on. "I was so blind...my desire for revenge so strong...that I forgot...I forgot about...the heart...and for that...I am... for that I am  _sorry_."

Something hot and damp slipped down his face. He didn't try to stop it. Everything...everything he had done...everything he had believed in...

He jumped when warm hands—Inoue's hands—touched his where they were clenched in his lap, and he finally let himself look down, blinking rapidly as the tears fell freely. Inoue was staring at him, lips pulled into a thin line, brows drawn together, though not with anger, disgust, or even pity, but with… _understanding_.

Uryu stared back at her, dumbfounded, and that was when it finally clicked.

It was over.

Yhwach was dead, his mother avenged.

It was time to move on.

It was time to  _live_.

And Inoue—Orihime—was his future.

Uryu returned the ferocity with which she held onto him, knowing that he would wait for her. Forever, if he had to. Because Inoue was—

"Inoue, I—"

"Ichigo's awake!"

Inoue jumped to her feet as Sado burst through the door, her hands held up in surrender on either side of her face, palms out. Uryu careened backwards, thrown off by the force with which she had pried their fingers apart, smacking the back of his head against the wall.  _Hard_.

Tears burst from his eyes for a whole new reason, stars flashing across his vision. Inoue yelped, kneeling beside him before rocking back onto her feet, flustered.

"Ishi—I mean—Uryu!"

"It—It's ok, Inoue," Uryu wheezed, waving her off half-heartedly. "Really, I'm fine."

"Uhhh..." Uryu heard Sado's feet shuffle awkwardly, the daylight that streamed in behind him blinding. "Did I….do something wrong?"

"N-No!" Inoue wagged her hands—at least, Uryu was pretty sure those things flying back in forth in front of her face were hands—frantically. "Wh-what were you saying, Sado-kun?"

Uryu's eyesight recovered just in time to see Sado's mouth twist to the side, a sure indication that he was not entirely convinced by Inoue's nervous display, but, Sado being Sado, just shrugged his massive shoulders, letting the subject drop. "I just thought you should know...Ichigo is awake."

Orihime's eyebrows lifted, her mouth dropping open in a wide "O" as her eyes went wide. "K-Kurosaki-kun..." She let out a relived, breathy sigh that was almost a cry, some of the tension that had been knotting her shoulders unraveling.

"Inoue!" Uryu cried as she swayed, and both he and Sado were there before she could collapse in a boneless heap.

Inoue didn't seem to notice the two men, instead caught up in the giddy relief Sado's rapturous news had brought. "Kurosaki-kun...is awake!"

oOo

Rukia needed to be alone.

Shunpoing as fast as she could, the small Shinigami flew through the Seireitei, dodging those she encountered when she slowed to catch her breath with a quick, "Thank you!", eager to escape the attention that came with being a newly-named Captain— _Acting_  Captain—equal parts in awe at how fast news circulated through the Soul Society and irritated that it moved faster than her.

"Hey, Rukia-chan, come have a drink with me in celebra—"

At least, she thought to herself as she danced around Rangiku Matsumoto with a hurried apology and lame excuse, the strawberry-blonde swaying drunkenly, alcohol sloshing free of her cup and spotting her robes, it seemed that Kyoraku had kept silent about Ichigo. For now.

_Ichigo…_

She sent her spiritual sense spearing out ahead of her, seeking her brother's reiatsu and altering course when necessary to avoid it—and him. Guilt raced through her just as she raced through the broken streets of the Seireitei, ruined buildings giving way to sheer cliff and stuttered steps. Eventually, she would face Byakuya. Eventually, she would face them all. But…right now…

Flashing up the zigzagging, rock-hewn stairs, it wasn't long before she reached the top, arriving at the last place they would think to look for her, the one spot in Soul Society that she had not set foot for fear of what it would do to her, that she now seemed compelled towards—Sokyoku Hill.

The world rushed to a stop, leaving her standing at the base of the tall wooden beams that formed the execution block, the clouds of dust stirred up by her feet quickly dispersing on the wind. Her head lifted, neck craning upwards to take in the massive structure, noting that it hadn't been touched during the chaos. It was as it had been since Ichigo rescued her, the thick beam that stretched horizontally unevenly broken into two separate, jagged pieces.

Rukia waited, held her breath, anticipating the panic that was bound to rip through her, rob her of confidence, make her heart tap against her breast in an irregular pattern, coil around her throat and squeeze. Sure enough, ghosts—not literal ones, of course, but those of the mind—traipsed across the barren landscape before Rukia could blink, conjured easily by the strong emotions imprinted upon the land by the events that had once taken place, yet, unlike with the Senzaikyu…

Rukia found herself regarding the whisper of Byakuya, his long black hair blowing in the wind as he turned away, looking anywhere but at his bound sister, with a strange sort of detachment. It was almost as if she was an observer and the woman in white, whose bindings bit into wrists too thin, was not her.

She realized, with a start, as that Rukia had bowed her head, had thanked that Head Captain for a promise he had never meant to keep, that in many ways, she  _wasn't_  that woman anymore.

The rope securing her past self's arms behind her back disintegrated, the cubes that would carry her to her doom separating from the base and latching onto her feet and hands with invisible force. Rukia remembered well the nausea that had settled in her stomach then, as she had gently been lifted into the sky, lifted upwards not by her own power but by someone—or rather, some _thing_ —else's. Grim acceptance—of what was happening, of what was to come—had settled the roiling uneasiness knotting her gut, and it was then, in that fleeting moment, that Rukia had known who she was.

Yes, she had changed a lot since then, was changing still.

But, despite all that had happened, that  _was_ happening, or  _would_  happen…there was one thing that would never change, that titles did not denote, that blood did not define, that others could not grant or take away, and that was who she was.

A small smile graced her lips.

Rukia.

She was…Rukia.

Rukia, who had stared down death, not once, not twice, not thrice, but more times than could be counted. Rukia, who had killed. Rukia, who had lost. Rukia, who had mourned.

Rukia, who had never once been broken.

Rukia, who would never break.

The Sokyoku of the past came alive, a burning bird of brilliant fire, yet Rukia—both past and present—did not flinch. If anything, she stood taller, defiant to the last, determined to meet fate head on and without regret. It flew towards her with a fury, the strength of a million Zanpakuto, the heat blistering her skin as it came closer and closer…

It collided, though not with her, and when she failed to cease to be, her eyes opened to reveal Ichigo standing almost nonchalantly before her, casually holding Death at bay, a stupid smile curling up his stupid lips on his stupid face.

"Fool," the Rukia of now muttered, the Rukia of then crying out his name,  _"Ichigo!"_

The ghosts began to fade, dwindling down until it was just the two of them, just Ichigo and her, and then even Ichigo was gone. The Rukia of now's feet moved of their own accord, bringing her to stand at the base of the execution block, her younger self reappearing below. The Rukia of now stared into the eyes of her younger self and the younger self stared back, both lifting their hands in unison, reaching forward until fingers touched and hands clasped. Her younger self dissolved into her, and it was then that Rukia understood.

It—she— _this_. This was who she was. Who she always had been and always would be.

Rukia.

Before Ichigo, before Kaien, before Byakuya, before Renji, she had been…Rukia.

The Rukia who had survived against all odds.

The Rukia who was still standing.

The Rukia who would not be beaten.

She was Rukia.

And, despite what the future held, even if Ukitake passed away, regardless of what Ichigo was and what he would choose to do...that would never change.


End file.
